


Into the Eyes of Fire

by Cunninglinguist



Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: Accidental summoning, Blood, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Bodily Fluids, Character Death, Choking, Consent Issues, Creepy, Creepy Fluff, Death, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fear, Ghosts, Horror, Knife Kink, Knifeplay, Masturbation, Murder, Murder Sex, One Shot, Oral Sex, Papa Has a Forked Tongue and I Regret Nothing, Soulmates, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Weird Fluff, haunted house au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 21:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10727838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cunninglinguist/pseuds/Cunninglinguist
Summary: A weekend of house-sitting turns into a bit more than I bargained for.





	Into the Eyes of Fire

"You sure about this?”

 

Fighting a smirk, I raised my eyebrows as Annette turned to regard me solemnly from the driver’s seat.

 

“Don’t worry, I think I can handle two nights in a…haunted house. Besides, chances are pretty good that any spirit floating around in there is more scared of me than I am of it,” I said with a weak chuckle, attempting to disguise my irritation with levity.

 

“All I’m sayin’ is, I can find someone else for the job if you change your mind,” she muttered, her fingers absently toying with the plain silver cross that hung from her neck. “I mean, I didn’t even take it. Not even for $500.”

 

I rolled my eyes. “You also don’t have catastrophic debt to pay off.”

 

She shrugged, staring just past my face, out the passenger side window. I knew she was gaping at the facade of the sprawling structure before us—and it was intimidating, make no mistake—we needed a fucking code to open the wrought iron gate that separated the half-mile-long driveway from the main road. Though now inhabited by her eccentric aunt and her three black cats, the house had been in Annette’s family for generations: it was big, old, and full of history.

 

For the weekend, it was all mine, while its owner gallivanted around New York City for some big shot, fashion-related something-or-other. Annette had, of course, gotten first dibs on the job, but she was too superstitious (overly-religious) to take it. On the drive over, I’d bitten my lips in an earnest effort not to laugh as she’d solemnly explained the presence her aunt had felt lurking within the house. In hushed tones, Annette described the feeling of constantly being watched, of seeing something just out of the corner of her eye, and the inexplicable disappearance of objects that her aunt would give up searching for, only to have them turn up the next week, and other poltergeist tropes that could easily be chalked up to absent-minded loneliness and paranoia. At the end of her story, Annette was clutching her cross in one hand and her fingernails dug crescent moons into palms.

 

When my response was a thin smile and a strained, “OK,” she tilted her head and sighed, resigned. “The fridge is stocked, and there’s definitely enough food for the kitties.” With a pause and one last meaningful look, she shifted gears into drive. “Seriously, be careful. Text me?”

 

“OK. Thanks for the lift, I’ll see you Sunday?” I said with a wink before sliding my bag over my shoulder and exiting her sedan.

 

I stood on the stone steps before the imposing wooden front doors and waved as Annette began her descent down the winding driveway. She flashed a peace sign back at me. The front doors were carved in such intricate and ornate detail; I wondered how long it had taken to finish them as I fished around in the deep pockets of my winter jacket for the keys.

 

Once inside, I was at a complete loss for words. My mouth hung open as I drifted from room to room, taking in the rich décor and vast spaces. The entryway seemed too huge to be just one room, with its cathedral ceiling, countless framed paintings decorating damask walls, and a grand spiral staircase that led upstairs. Why Annette would deny herself a weekend alone in this magnificent behemoth was beyond me. Sure, there was no denying the energy of the house, so thick it was palpable, but that’s just how old houses are—full of memories, marked indelibly by the past. I found that more fascinating and charming than I did scary, but then again, Annette and I were not of the same mind when it came to matters of faith.

 

I concluded my initial tour in the kitchen, which was gorgeous and pristine, and just as Annette had said, it was stocked—and not just with food.

 

“All right,” I laughed to myself, pulling a bottle of Saint-Émilion grand cru from the nearly full wine fridge in the island. “I know what I’m doin’ after I feed these cats.”

*********************************************************************************************

 

While every room in the house had its own bizarre, eccentric charm, I ultimately decided that my favorite was the master bathroom. With its marble floors and enormous, deep bathtub–not to mention the antique vanity and its many unique perfume bottles and vintage makeup compacts–this bathroom was truly the stuff of decadent, showgirl wet dreams. One of these days, I told myself, I’d have a bathroom just like it.

 

Once the cats were fed and I had eaten some dinner, I took the now half-empty bottle of grand cru upstairs to explore this bathroom. I relished in opening each apothecary jar of scented bath salts and inhaling deeply. Finally settling on the tuberose and lavender salts, I turned the faucet to its hottest setting and began filling the tub. Naturally, there were gorgeous candles placed in various aesthetically pleasing places, so I took the time to light them before shimmying out of my clothes and slowly lowering my never-quite-warm body into the steaming tub.

 

“Oh yeah…that’s the stuff,” I moaned as I slowly immersed myself in the water, letting the heat consume me, until everything was immersed but my head and shoulders. I slowly leaned to the side to grab my wine glass from the floor and settled in, convinced that I had somehow managed to burst through heaven’s pearly gates and was now reaping the rewards. Ghostly tendrils of steam languidly spiraled up from the tinted, fragrant water, and the orange light of the candles danced sensuously on the walls, hued indigo by the dying twilight sky.

 

I sipped my fine wine and rested my head contentedly against the tub. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d really had a bath, certainly not one as indulgent as this…and without time constraints? I closed my eyes and smiled as my head swam pleasantly from the alcohol and warmth.

 

The only thing that could have made this experience any better would be having someone here in this massive tub with me. I smirked and took the last few sips of wine before setting the glass on the ornate tile behind me.

 

I brushed the backs of my fingers against the warm, damp flesh of my neck, then down to my collarbones. The throbbing between my thighs intensified as my hand continued its journey below the water’s surface to squeeze my aching nipples, then down to graze my stomach, until finally I reached my cunt.

 

I closed my eyes and groaned as I parted my lips and rubbed the pad of my middle finger over my clit. I quickly realized that I wasn’t going to last long as I slowly rubbed myself, rocking my hips up to increase the pressure.

 

As delicious heat gathered between my legs, the vision of a man appeared in my mind’s eye. I furrowed my brow and kept rubbing myself—though his back was to me, there was something alluring about the way his body moved. He was dressed in a strange suit, with a fitted jacket and tight pants that accentuated everything. His hips swayed side to side, his mannerisms theatrical and teasing, like he knew I was watching. I bit my lip and rubbed myself harder, that building arousal spreading through my veins like wildfire. I squirmed and knit my brows together—my entire body tingled, and suddenly everything was unbearable—my need to come, my need to see his face, my need for more…

 

Suddenly, he turned around, and I cried out at both the sight before me and the frissons of excitement that licked up my spine—his face was skeletal and grotesque, with the most intensely stunning, mismatched eyes peering out from gaping sockets: one glowed an unnatural, glassy ice blue, the other a piercing green. Both eyes fixated upon me, burning into my very soul. I shuddered and rubbed myself harder, nearing sheer madness from the surprising sensations that surrounded me, unable to concentrate on anything other than those eyes.

 

His mouth opened, and he whispered something, a word I had never heard before, _“Ghuleh”,_ in an eerie breath that sounded like no other voice on this earth, and the moment it passed his lips, my body seized up as my orgasm wracked my body in earth-shattering waves, one after the next, as my cries echoed off the bathroom walls. Warm fluid rushed into the bathwater between my shaking thighs; I was unsure of whether it was urine or arousal, and, honestly, I didn’t give a fuck—I was helpless to the most intense climax of my life as it seized me over and over until my skeletal vision disappeared, an enticing smile on his face, and I finally slumped back against the tile, breathing hard, and drifted quickly into a deep sleep.

 

**************************************************************************************************

_“Ghuleh….”_

 

My eyes flew open. A strange chill rushed through me. I sat up, knuckles white where I gripped the lip of the tub as I frantically scanned the room, slightly disoriented and reeling from memories of my strange dream. Heart pounding in my chest, I concentrated on listening.

 

Nothing, save the steady drips falling from my exposed arm to the marble floor, and my heavy breathing. The candles burned on, their flames glimmering ominously against night-blackened walls.

 

A nervous nausea settled over me, though the house was silent and the bath water was still warm enough to milk for a few more minutes. I settled back into the tub, convinced I had imagined things, though the malaise did not relent.

 

_“Ghuleh….”_

 

There it was again—and this time, it was much closer. I gasped and whirled around, shivering as the hair at the back of my neck stood up. I furrowed my brow as I stared at nothing but an empty wine glass and obsidian tiles.

 

“Who’s there?” I shouted, attempting to conceal the very real fear that I was experiencing as a stark naked woman in a strange, too-big house that was quite possibly crawling with intruders of all unsavory sorts. Why the fuck did I leave my switchblade at home?

 

I carefully stood up. “Who’s there?!” I tried again, a bit louder as I slowly reached for the fluffy black towel on the edge of the tub.

 

The only answer was a gust of wind so powerful it shook the foundations of the house. I wrapped the towel tightly around my body as the structure groaned and all of the candles flickered in its wake, their flames casting ghoulish shadows in the far-too-dark room.

 

Though I trembled and my mind raced, I managed to maintain the presence of mind to walk slowly across the room as not to slip and crack my skull on the unforgiving surfaces and turned on the lights. I shivered and pulled the towel tighter—how was it still so dark in here? I fiddled with the light switch—there was no dimmer, no way to brighten it up.

 

“Fuck,” I hissed, flinging the door open. The darkened hallway that yawned before me offered little comfort, and my heart rate increased as I realized I had no idea where the hell the hall lights were located.

 

Just stay calm, stay calm, everything’s OK…you’re just imagining things, I recited woodenly in my head as I padded down the hall, dripping bath water onto the worn carpet runner. You’re gonna get dressed, find the lights, and finish that wine to calm down. Maybe you’ll even open another bottle, who knows—

 

I stopped cold in my tracks at the distinct sound of floorboards creaking behind me. Paralyzed and breathing hard, my eyes widened in terror as the noise continued—step by step, someone was slowly approaching me— _maybe it’s one of the cats, just turn around and see that it’s one of the cats_ —

 

_“Ghuleh….”_

 

I flinched violently at the feeling of a leather-clad finger brushing a stray hair from my neck.

 

Several panicked gasps escaped my lips as the blood froze in my veins. Utterly unprepared for what I might see, I whirled around to confront whoever—or whatever—was behind me. I let out a discouraged but relieved sigh—no one was there.

 

“What the fuck is going on?!” I whimpered, pleading with the universe to send me a rational explanation for what was shaping up to be the biggest mind-fuck of my life—had that wine been spiked, or had Annette actually been right? Was this huge, melancholy, gorgeous, horrible house actually haunted?

 

No. No fucking way. Had to be the wine. Yeah, definitely the wine.

 

I hurried into the guest room, where I immediately turned on all the lights and yanked my phone from where it had been charging in the wall. 911 was dialed and my thumb hovered over the call button before I regained my senses, beset by my own stupidity. Chuckling nervously, I set my phone down and pulled on a fresh pair of panties and my soft, oversized band tee shirt.

 

“You’re being ridiculous,” I said aloud. “No one’s here. Just you and the cats.”

 

Somewhat calmer—but still unsettled—I hurried back down the hall to extinguish the candles I’d left burning in the bathroom. When I opened the bathroom door, they were already out…all but one.

 

Trying to ignore the cold anchor of dread that had made its home inside of me, I picked up the candle and brought it back to the guest room. I turned the lights out, feeling slightly reassured by the candle, and locked the door, though I was sure that measure would do little more than offer me some fleeting semblance of peace of mind. I slid under the sumptuous black covers of the king sized bed and pulled them over my chin, like a child afraid of her own shadow.

 

Just as my heart rate slowed enough for my eyelids to slowly droop shut…I heard it again: this time, right in my left ear.

 

_“Ghuleh….”_

 

Again, my eyes flew open. I screamed at the sight of the specter from my dream looming over me, mismatched eyes glowing demonically as his skeletal face twisted in a monstrous grin.

 

“Shit!!” I yelled, scrambling frantically to find the lamp on the bedside table. Before I could turn it on, the cold, flat side of a substantial knife smacked against my knuckles.

 

“I wouldn’t do that,” the specter said, an almost amused lilt in his thick, bizarre accent.

 

“Wh-who are you?” I choked out, quickly extricating my hand from beneath his knife and pulling the blankets up to my chin. With horror, I realized I was wet at the sight of him.

 

“I have gone by many names,” he replied, his leather-gloved hands toying absently with the knife. His eyes flashed as they met mine. “You may call me Papa Emeritus.”

 

“What do you want?” I asked weakly, unable to look away. I squeezed my thighs together tightly in an attempt to offset my confusing, conflicting feelings.

 

He grinned even wider; his sunken eyes and crooked smile were accentuated by the flickering candlelight. “After that lovely spectacle in the bathtub, can you truly not guess?”

 

Rage and shame suddenly flared in my chest. I clutched the sheets tighter as my face burned and I spat out, “Just fucking tell me what you want!”

 

“I want _you_ , ghuleh,” he murmured, reaching out for me.

 

My gut twisted as panic suffused my body. “You can’t have me!” I cried, kicking off the covers and lunging for my phone. In the scuffle, I vaguely noticed with surprise that my foot connected solidly with his chest. He was corporeal, like a man, and not what I had imagined a spirit to be like at all.

 

Like a heavy-handed imbecile, in my panicked fumbling, I sent my phone clattering to the ground. In an instant, it was sliding across the floor, only to collide with and break against the wall. I gasped and whipped my head around from where I was, prostrate on my stomach, to see Papa Emeritus hovering at the edge of the bed, eyes narrowed, his being now emanating an eerie, mist-like glow.

 

“Foolish girl. Who would you call? What would you say?” he asked mockingly, lowering himself onto the bed, knees first, brandishing his wicked blade. “You think you can escape me before I’ve had my way with you?”

 

White spots danced before my eyes as I cried out in fear, scrambling to disentangle my cumbersome limbs from the sheets. He was too fast—I screamed as he gripped my ankle so tightly I thought my bones might shatter, his touch hot enough to leave burns in its wake.

 

Though he used preternatural strength to flip me onto my back, I still struggled–kicking as hard as I could, even straining to reach the lamp behind me so I could throw it at him. He dodged it easily, grinning as it shattered against the wall.

 

“I like how you fight, ghuleh,” he said, pinning my legs to the bed. He slowly ran a splayed palm from my calf up to my thigh; I barely suppressed a touch-starved groan of approval. “But come now, I know you don’t really want to resist me. I can feel your hunger, your curiosity, your aching, wet, desire.”

 

I yelled out in indignation at this humiliating truth. When his hands left my skin, the force of his hold remained, anchoring me in place. He pressed the blade of his knife against the soft, tremulous flesh of my inner thigh. “Such passion, such life.”

 

“OK, OK, OK,” I said breathlessly, my mind racing, caught between my regrettable but undeniable desire and the survival instinct bellowing for me to stall. “Wait, just wait.”

 

He paused and regarded me expectantly, a dark mischief dancing in his bright, glassy blue eye, like a cat playing with the mouse in his claws, thoroughly amused by his quarry’s last-ditch pleas and bargains.

 

I took a deep, shaky inhale as I struggled to string words together. “What do you mean, have me? Like…” I inhaled again and closed my eyes, incredulous of what I was about to say. “Like…f-fuck me?”

 

He tilted his head to the side and smiled. “Would you like that?”

 

I bit my lip in frustration and rolled my eyes upwards, looking at the shadows on the ceiling. “If you’ll let me go after, you can…you can fuck me.”

 

Now _he_ looked confused. Crawling between my legs, he nudged my thighs apart and caged me with his body. My stomach flip-flopped and a tremor of something that was too close to excitement danced up my spine as his lips hovered mere inches from mine and those wild eyes stared down at me with amused concern. “Let you go?”

 

I nodded, trying my hardest to look anywhere but his face. “Just do it, just fuck me, and let me go after.”

 

“Oh, darling.” He leaned closer to me, so close his breath should have been on my face, but there was nothing more than a chill. “If you are not begging me to make you mine before I am finished with you, I will let you go.” He nuzzled my hair with his nose, inhaling deeply. “Say it again.”

 

I slammed my eyes shut, trying to ignore the solid feeling of his body between my thighs and the unfathomable, infuriating arousal that soaked my underwear. How did he manage to be simultaneously freezing cold and burning hot? “Fuck me,” I whispered hoarsely, ashamed at how much I meant it.

 

He let out an unearthly groan, a sigh that sounded like the first time he had spoken to me in the bathtub, before dipping his head and latching his lips to my neck. I bit my lip to stifle a moan of my own, my nipples immediately stiffening as hot, surprisingly plush lips sucked what would surely be a bruise on my flesh.

 

“How long has it been, beautiful ghuleh, since someone worshipped this body? Possessed you entirely?” he murmured against my ear.

 

“Too long,” we whispered in tandem. He rolled his hips, grinding his pelvis against my sensitive cunt.

 

“I will make you forget everyone else before me,” he said, squeezing my breast possessively. I tried desperately to not arch into him…and failed.

 

“I will make you forget everything,” he growled, suddenly rising to stand on his knees between my splayed thighs, brandishing his dagger. I stiffened, but found myself unable to move.

 

Papa Emeritus slid the blade beneath the hem of my shirt and flicked his wrist, slicing my body free. I sighed as my exposed nipples hardened even more. With a look in his eye that both terrified and aroused me beyond reason, Papa set his weapon down and lunged at me.

 

There weren’t words to describe the feeling of him—I was enveloped in a multi-sensory, heightened haze that both comforted and terrified me. I wanted to trust him, to let him in, but my rational mind screamed _no, no no_. It was so overwhelming that tears sprang to my eyes as he mouthed at the curve of my breast and snaked his gloved hand into my panties to part my lips and rub at my clitoris, just as I had done in the bath.

 

“ _God_ ,” I cried, gripping his shoulder tightly. My flesh tingled everywhere it made contact with him.

 

He tossed his head back and laughed, a booming sound that filled the room. The flames of the candles flared, so engorged by his magic, like flames of a bonfire, enormous enough to set the room ablaze–when they shrank back, they revealed five masked, horned specters looming over me. I whimpered and dug my fingernails into Papa’s back.

 

“You’ll find no ‘God’ here tonight, lovely ghuleh,” he said, his voice echoing off the walls as the shadows looked on in silence, their hands clasped imperiously behind their backs.

 

“Who are they?” I whispered fearfully as Papa slid his hands down my sides, down my hips, before finally sliding them beneath my ass and pulling me closer.

 

“They are my ghouls…they are nameless,” he said. His eyes glittered roguishly as he brought his mouth to my dripping sex. “They like to watch.”

 

My back arched so violently off the bed I thought it might break at the feeling of two shockingly hot, wet tongues lapping at both sides of my throbbing clit. My mind short-circuited, colors bursting behind my eyes as I realized that his tongue was split in two, and both parts were moving independently to destroy me entirely. I bit back a mewl as he licked and sucked on my cunt, thoroughly, like he was _savoring_ me.

 

The ghouls gazed on, their lurking presence scorching and tangible, as I writhed against Papa’s face, suspended in a surreal space between arousal and fear, certainty and chaos, life and death.

 

“Ah, Papa!” I gasped suddenly, my fingers twisting urgently in his black hair as luscious, telltale warmth flooded my low gut. He growled against me—I shuddered at the vibration—and doubled his efforts, licking rapidly at my swollen clit, until I squeezed his face between my thighs, tossed my head back, and screamed as I was inundated with indescribable ecstasy that sent spasms through my entire body, over and over until I thought I would burst into flames.

 

He didn’t stop there, no. He maneuvered his hands out from under me to hold my thighs apart as he kept licking at me torturously. My stomach muscles cramped, my legs shook, and my face was wet with tears, yet he didn’t stop until he wrenched a second, agonizing orgasm from me with that wicked forked tongue.

 

“I ca-I can’t take it!” I exclaimed, trying to regulate my breathing as I shook and moaned.

 

“You are exquisite,” he murmured, finally detaching that sinful mouth from my flesh. I groaned in protest, already craving his touch.

 

“Tell me,” he said, unzipping his pants and tearing the tattered remains of my sweat-soaked shirt from my body, “are you ready to be mine?”

 

He picked up his knife and trailing it across my stomach, over my breasts. I nodded, hissing as the deadly chill grazed my nipples. Dazed, I propped myself up on my elbows and allowed my legs to fall even farther apart. He grinned at my display, and I bit my lip.

 

“I want you,” I groaned, overpowered by my desperate yearning for the specter before me.

 

“I know you do, beautiful ghuleh,” he said, flashing his forked tongue between his lips as he teased his thick, throbbing cock against my wet opening. “As I want you, as I have wanted you since you let me into your bath earlier tonight.”

 

The sensations were so much, too much—my head tipped back as I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling his body closer. “How can it feel so good?” I whispered.

 

“Oh, darling,” he murmured, guiding the tip of his cock inside of me. “Because it is meant to be.”

 

Every last drop of blood in my body rushed between my thighs, heightening my sensitivity and making his languid entry excruciating. I moaned, long and loud as he stretched me open, pressing every inch of his hard cock inside me until I was a raw nerve, nothing more than a barely-contained vessel for deviant, sinful sensations of pure physical pleasure.

 

“Move!” I whined, bucking my hips. “Papa, please!”

 

He chuckled darkly. “Patience.”

 

The lines between reality and perception blurred, a fuzzy warmth and dreadful chill consuming me in equal measure as the specter took me, owning my body with his hands, lips, and cock—slowly at first, like he was exploring what was his. My own voice was nearly unrecognizable to me as I moaned and whimpered at the onslaught of sensation, begging him to fuck me harder, harder. His lips and teeth attacked my neck and he sucked my aching nipples into his mouth; his hands gripped me possessively as the friction between us burned me from the inside in the sweetest way.

 

“You will come for me now,” he growled in my ear with a powerful thrust.

 

I bit back fresh tears as he held my legs apart, gritting his teeth and staring into my eyes as his cock struck that spot within me that made my toes curl and my eyes cross. I sobbed out his name as I came.

 

My moments of reprieve were nonexistent: with a satisfied grunt, Papa Emeritus pulled out of me wetly before positioning my limp body on all fours, facing me towards our silent audience. My arms shook with the effort of supporting myself as he spat on my cunt and reentered me roughly. I cried out and squeezed my eyes shut, unsure of where to look.

 

“You are doing just as well as I’d hoped,” he whispered darkly in my ear. Tears pricked my eyes as he yanked my hair back roughly. “But ghuleh, we are just getting started.”

 

I clawed at the sheets as his fingers teased my aching clit while he did impossible things with his hips, things that no man could do. Thick strands of drool poured from the corners of my lips as he fucked me like a beast on all fours, whispering lovely, horrifying fantasies of his power, power he wanted to share with me, his ghuleh, his queen. I mewled and sobbed when he pushed me down onto my stomach and thrust deeply into me, taking me again and again, until my entire life flashed before my eyes and the only word I could remember was his name.

 

I thought I might pass out when he leaned back against the headboard, licking his lips with that awful, wonderful tongue and commanded, “Sit on my cock.”  
My limbs felt like pudding as I shakily straddled him, wincing as I lowered my sore, dripping cunt onto his slick erection. His lips parted in an “o”, his intense eyes on my face as I steadied myself on his shoulders, biting my lip with the effort of riding him.

 

“Do this,” he murmured, roughly pulling me all the way down on his length and maneuvering my legs so that they were wrapped around his waist, my ankles crossed at his lower back. My synapses exploded as he swiveled his hips deliciously, taking control of the movement as I held on for dear life.

 

He kept one gloved hand splayed possessively on the small of my back, anchoring my cunt just where he wanted it, and slid the other up my body to squeeze my breast before closing around my throat.

 

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured, his accent thick with lust as he undulated his hips, driving his cock deeper inside of me. I whimpered unintelligibly, answering his thrust with a languid arch of my back, wordlessly begging for more, more, more.

Those lovely mismatched eyes narrowed, emanating something sinister that sent an icy prickle of fear up my spine and a rush of heat between my trembling thighs. His leather-clad fingers tightened on my throat.

“Now’s not the time to get shy, ghuleh,” he said darkly with a rough thrust–and fuck, it was perfect–my hand flew up to clutch at his wrist.

“Feels so fucking good,” I gasped, my eyes rolling back in bliss.

He exhaled audibly and fucked me harder. “Now I will make you mine,” he whispered, brandishing his long, shiny dagger. “Forever.”

Maybe it was the sex, maybe it was his magic, maybe it was just because I wanted literally everything that he would give me (and desperately, at that)–pain and pleasure alike–I bit my lip and forced my eyes up to meet his burning, preternatural gaze.

“Yes, do it,” I groaned, delirious with desire, squeezing his hand as my cunt slicked his length with fresh arousal. “Fuck! Please, do it!”

 

The candles’ flames surged again and there was a crack of thunder; my nipples stiffened as the house shook as he squeezed my neck harder—one last pang of rampant, pure terror seized me as the lightning illuminated the room—the ghouls stood around the bed now, so close that I could see their bright eyes staring through the masks.

 

Suddenly, Papa ceased his thrusts.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to let you go?” he cooed, squeezing my neck harder.

 

I shook my head and arched my back, delirious with desperation for more. “No, please don’t, please make me yours,” I begged, squeezing his arms. 

A look of pure desire overtook Papa’s face, clouding his eyes as he leaned forward to kiss me hard, the first kiss we’d shared all night, and I melted into it, knowing in that moment that nothing would ever be the same, that I was irrevocably his. When he pulled back, I glimpsed his carnal grin; I didn’t see the dagger until it was too late.

 

Time slowed as he brought the knife to my throat and slashed me ear-to-ear, his blade parting my flesh at the same time that he resumed his thrusts—

 

My eyes widened in shock—I didn’t know what I had expected, but it hadn’t been that—but I was only given a brief moment to process my betrayal before his lips were at my neck, lapping at the copious crimson spurts that burst forth from the gash as he held me tight and fucked up into me. The second his lips touched my wound, my pupils dilated and I felt the blinding force of his power surging through me.

 

The razor sharp edge of pain blurred with the pleasure of the unearthly cock inside of me, and I clawed at Papa’s back hard enough to split the fabric of his jacket as his thrusts grew more erratic and his groans grew louder. My own grip on reality slipped as my blood squelched between our heaving chests, seeping into his unbuttoned white shirt in sickening quantities, but my vision remained crystal clear. The more viscera he sucked from my fatal wound, the more invincible I felt, until I was yanking his hair back to look at his blood-splattered face, hopeless lust smoldering in his eyes, and pinning him down onto the bed. A tingling warmth permeated my being as I pressed his shoulders into the bed and rode him, my fingers slipping in my own sticky gore. My cunt clenched around the thick cock inside of me as I hurtled towards an absolutely gut-wrenching climax that would most likely tear me apart.

 

“Ghuleh,” moaned Papa, his hands on my hips, awestruck as I undulated above him, blood streaking the wall where it flew from our brutal movements. “Come with me, ghuleh.”

 

I tangled our fingers together and squeezed as my eyes rolled back in my head and I let out a desperate groan, my insides tightening, overcome with mortal pain and a transcendent, impossible bliss as we tipped over the edge…together, as one.

 

A thousand voices poured from my throat as I came screaming with a sound so great that it shattered the windows, at the same time that Papa tossed his head back and let out a sinister, inhuman growl as he released deep inside of me. I sucked in one final, shrill breath as I was gripped by the powerful clarity that came with becoming immortal (undead?) before my vision blacked out and my consciousness faded.

 

*******************************************************************************************

 

When I slowly regained awareness, I was back in the bathtub, lit by the glow of nearly spent candles. I gripped the edge of the tub, looking around wildly. Had it all been a dream?

 

The melancholy feeling that sent my stomach plummeting into a sorrowful pit at the notion of having dreamt my gruesome, beautiful night with Papa Emeritus surprised me, as did the accompanying tears that pricked my eyes.

 

With a sigh, I reached for the fluffy black towel on the edge of the bathtub. I was definitely going to open another bottle of wine, and there was not a damn thing anyone could do about it.

 

As I dried myself off, I caught a glimpse of myself in the vanity mirror. Wait…was that—was that what I thought it was? I let the towel fall to the floor and slowly approached my reflection. Shouldn’t my heart have been pounding? I absently brought my fingers to my wrist—cold. No pulse.

 

I squinted and tilted my chin upwards—yeah. There it was—the fresh, gaping slice clear across my throat, still bright red and fresh. Relief washed over me—it had happened, he _had_ been real. As I prodded the bloody flesh wound, I was overcome with anger, and questions. 

 

“Of course I am real,” came a familiar, teasing voice behind me. I turned around to face the grinning specter before me. I couldn’t help it—my anger dissipated at the sight of him. He shrugged, his white shirt still soaked through with my blood.

 

“Well, now what?” I asked, stepping slowly towards him. His eyes raked over my body, lingering on my fatal wound. “You didn’t exactly tell me what I was signing up for, here. Am I just going to rot in this house now?”

 

He smirked coyly and extended his hand. “Rot? Never. Come, I have much to show you.”

 

With an answering coquettish smile, I took his hand, which sent a pleasurable tingle through me.

 

Suddenly, there was the sound of a car door slamming in the driveway. My eyebrows flew skyward—Annette! It must be Sunday evening. Papa Emeritus looked at me expectantly.

 

“What do you say, my zombie queen?” he asked mischievously. “Shall we give her some nightmares?”

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, that was my first freaky foray into the world of bandom fic. If ya liked that, feel free to find me on [Tumblr](http://hannibalssweaters.tumblr.com/), where I am always yelling about villains, horror, priests, metal, and hot skeletons.


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